All Through The House (6 page)

In the ensuing silence, however, he made his escape. Maybe,
if he was very lucky, she'd be gone before he got back.

*****

By six o'clock Friday evening, Abigail was getting
flustered. She'd been stuck at the office with a couple who had appeared just
before closing and were anxious to talk about listings. Since they both worked
and couldn't come during the day, Abigail had made herself be patient, even
though she was desperate to get home. Just because it interfered with her
social life, she couldn't jeopardize a possible sale. Times arose often enough
when she had to put Kate's needs ahead of her work.

So now she was flinging on the first suitable dress that
came to hand, a summery white silk one that outlined her figure nicely. She
slapped on makeup with a careless hand, all the while trying to ignore the
critique on her appearance that her four-year-old daughter was offering from
her cozy spot on the bed. Every couple of minutes Abigail stuck her head out to
issue one more instruction to the baby-sitter, who was in the kitchen dishing
up the last-minute dinner for herself and her charge that Abigail had thrown
together when she walked in the door.

Peering at herself in the mirror, Abigail muttered under her
breath, "Isn't dating fun?"

"I wish I could go," Kate said wistfully, for at
least the tenth time.

"Oh, sweetie." Abigail rose and went over to the
bed to envelop her daughter in a big hug. "You know Mommy has to do
grown-up things sometimes. I'm sorry."

The little girl, who had Abigail's dark curls and her
father's blue eyes, made a scrunched-up face that spoke louder than words.
Abigail laughed and gave her daughter another squeeze, but felt a pang inside.
It was hard for Kate, when her mom was gone all day and then went out in the
evening, too. Even if Abigail had felt more inclined, her need to be with Kate
would have kept her from dating often.

The sound of the doorbell made her start. She'd missed
hearing the pickup pull into the driveway of the small rental house.

"Come and meet my friend," she said, standing and
holding out her hand.

Kate looked mutinous, but finally laid her hand in Abigail's
and let herself be towed along.

The baby-sitter had already answered the door. Nate stood
just inside the small living room. The moment mother and daughter appeared, his
gaze flicked over Abigail in a comprehensive survey, then settled on Kate, who
stared at him coldly.

Abigail did her best. "Honey, this is Nate. Nate, my
daughter, Kate."

"I'm pleased to meet you," Nate said gravely. He
didn't make the mistake of offering his hand, which would have sent Kate shying
behind her mother.

Abigail didn't really expect her daughter to say anything.

She didn't like to meet new people. But after a thoughtful
moment the little girl piped up unexpectedly, "We rhyme."

"I noticed," Nate agreed, the corners of his mouth
twitching. "My whole name is Nathaniel. Is yours Katherine?"

Kate didn't appear to be sure she wanted to answer that, but
at last she agreed, "Yes."

Abigail smiled and leaned down to whisper in her daughter's
ear, "Katie Rose, you be a good girl for Erica. I'll come in and kiss you
when I get home. Okay?"

"Okay." She turned up her face for a kiss, then
stepped back to the baby-sitter's side. "Have fun, Mommy."

"Thank you, Kate," Abigail said. "I shouldn't
be late, Erica. 'Bye."

Once in the pickup, Nate smiled at Abigail. "She looks
just like her mommy. Beautiful."

"Thank you," Abigail said politely.

"No, I mean it." Nate reached out and tilted her
chin up, so she had to look at him. His eyes had a glow that started a chain
reaction in her, and the twist of his mouth was dangerously sensual. "You
look very beautiful tonight."

Abigail swallowed. Still, her voice barely reached above a
whisper when she said again, "Thank you."

Their eyes held for another irresistible moment. Abigail
forgot that they were still sitting in her own driveway in full view of the
front windows. But at last Nate looked away and his hand dropped to the key
that he'd already put in the ignition. With a throaty roar the pickup started,
and the taut thread between her and him was broken. Abigail fastened the seat
belt. She felt as shaky as though she were strapping herself in for a trip to
outer space.

"Anthony's Home Port okay?" Nate asked, his voice
not giving anything away.

Abigail tried to sound as unruffled when she agreed that it
sounded wonderful. She'd never actually been to the restaurant before, although
she knew that it was one of several clustered in a waterfront development that
overlooked a marina in Everett, less than a half-hour drive away.

The evening turned out to be one of the most satisfying
Abigail could remember. She'd come to believe that dating was an overrated
institution for adults; what was fun when you were twenty was tedious when you
were thirty. Over drinks and then dinner, however, she and Nate discovered
enough interests in common to provide for comfortable conversation.

"Believe it or not, I grew up in Pilchuck," he
said. "My father was a logger."

At eighteen, he'd fled the small town to go to college at
the University of California in Berkeley. During her married life, Abigail had
lived in San Rafael, a town just inland from San Francisco, so they were able
to talk about museums and sports teams without missing a beat.

Abigail had already discovered that Nate liked to read, and
she was pleased to find out that he skied, too, a sport she had always loved.

"Although," she admitted, "I haven't been
able to afford to go very often these last few years. And when I work all week,
I hate to leave Kate on Saturday or Sunday, too."

She hadn't meant to raise the subject, but Nate picked up on
it. "Has it been hard being a single parent?"

Abigail took a sip of her Riesling, gazing for a moment out
the window at the rows of moored boats bobbing gently alongside the floating
docks. The sun was at last sinking toward the horizon, casting a gaudy orange
sheen on the unusually still water of the bay. Finally she sighed.

"Yes and no. I wouldn't trade Kate for anything in the
world, you understand, but…. Being a parent dominates my life more than it does
for most people. I can't take a break, even if I'm ready to scream. One of the
toughest parts is not having anybody to talk to. But then," she added with
a shrug, "James wasn't all that great a parent, anyway, so I didn't lose
anything there."

Nate looked at her thoughtfully. "You don't sound
bitter."

"You mean about James?" Abigail tilted her head to
one side as she considered his question, wanting to be honest. "I was, at
first. On the one hand I was glad to be free. On the other.... There were times
I resented what that marriage did to my life." She looked back down the
years with pity for her younger self. "I was left with no career, no
husband. What I did have was a toddler who really needed two parents. I wasn't
so sure there for a while that I was any stronger than she was. Kate was
learning to walk, I was learning how to take care of us. Sometimes I was
terribly bitter! But that was a long time ago. I went back to selling real
estate, which I'd done before I married James. I love it, and I'm proud that
I've been able to make a go of it. And I love Kate. We have a good
relationship. So, no, I'm not bitter, not now. Good heavens, I never even think
about James!"

Nate gave a little nod, as though she'd satisfied some inner
question. Abigail couldn't resist asking, "Have you ever been
married?"

"No." He leaned back in his chair and smiled, outwardly
relaxed but his gray eyes intent on her face. "I had a few close calls,
but I guess it just wasn't right. Maybe I was too footloose during the years
most of my friends were getting hitched up. Right after college I worked in
Alaska on fishing boats for a year. I came back and went to graduate school,
but then instead of finding myself a respectable job, I spent another year
bumming around in Europe. I had a great time, you understand, but by the time I
got back, I was almost twenty-seven and hadn't held a serious job yet."

Abigail was fascinated by this history. It seemed to reflect
the contradictions she had already sensed in him. The devilish gleam he
sometimes had in his eyes hardly seemed to belong to the same man as the one
who had told her with such single-minded intensity how he felt about
architecture. She couldn't help wondering, too, about his family; he hadn't
mentioned his mother at all, and there had been an odd constraint in his voice
when he had told her about his father.

At first she'd tagged him as the love-'em-and-leave-'em
type, to whom women came too easily. If that was true at all, it was only one
shade of his personality. When he looked at her with desire, he was dangerous,
no question. But the rest of the time, she was finding him to be sympathetic,
compassionate, downright likable. All of which meant nothing, she told herself
firmly, except that she was enjoying the evening. There were still too many
unanswered questions about Nate Taggart for her to abandon all caution. Like,
for example, why Ed Phillips was so wary where Nate was concerned.

"Can we walk down on the dock before we leave?"
Abigail suggested impulsively.

"Why not?" Nate tossed some bills down on the tray
the waiter had discreetly left. "Shall we?"

For a June day in the Pacific Northwest, the weather was
unusually warm. No hint of a breeze came in off the Sound, and the shimmering
surface of the water swelled and rolled, but didn't break for even the small
lap of waves. The sun was almost gone now, a luminous orange disk to the west
that left the sky a deepening velvet blue. Abigail's heels clicked on the
floating wooden dock, which rose and fell almost imperceptibly underfoot with
the movement of the water. She took a deep breath, filling her nostrils with
the salty scent of the Sound.

She glanced at Nate, who strolled along at her side, tie
loosened, his dark sport coat slung over his shoulder, held by one crooked
finger. He was idly studying the boats that they passed, his expression one of
contentment.

"Did you enjoy being out on the fishing boat?" Abigail
asked.

He shrugged. "At first. I like boats. It got old fast,
though. You're trapped in cramped quarters with a group of people who can
really start to get on your nerves. Half the time you're cold, wet, tired. The
damned boat stinks." A lazy smile mocked his young self. "Let's just
say the romance went out of it quickly."

"Do you sail?"

"With friends sometimes. I don't have a boat, but I can
borrow one when the spirit moves me. Last summer I spent a week sailing in the
San Juan Islands. You ever been up there? It's incredible. Deep channels cut
between tiny islands, you feel like you have it all to yourself. Everything is
so vivid, green and blue, with the sun-warmed gray slabs tilting into the
water...." He grinned. "I almost packed up and moved there."

"Why didn't you?" she asked curiously.

"Ah, I have it too good where I am. My partner John and
I really work well together. And business is starting to pick up. I couldn't
walk away from that. Besides...." He hesitated. "I guess Pilchuck is
home. It's beautiful country, too."

"I like being able to see the mountains," Abigail
agreed.

They turned to retrace their steps. Swinging low over their
heads, a gull cried raucously in hopes of a handout before settling on a dark,
creosoted piling. Abigail was suddenly very aware of Nate beside her, in a
different way than she had been a minute before. When she glanced at him, their
eyes met briefly, and she saw that his no longer held that look of lazy
contentment. The glint in their gray depths sparked a ripple of reaction in
her.

Then his big hand closed around hers. Her fingers curled to
meet his, and their hands locked in a timeless and curiously comfortable clasp.
Abigail looked straight ahead as they walked, trying to make herself think of
the beautiful evening, the incandescent water, the white gulls dipping and
wheeling overhead. The dock shivered under their matching footsteps. The moment
struck Abigail as consummately romantic, with the two of them alone with the
sky and water and the boats with their furled sails.

James had buried her in flowers, wined and dined her, bought
her diamonds and pearls, but even then, in love with him as she had been, she'd
sometimes longed for the quiet moment. But a stroll on the dock had never been
his style; if he had thought she would enjoy a sunset, James would have
chartered a yacht, complete with catered dinner. The memory made her grateful
for the present.

Too soon they reached the steps, and once up them were in
the mundane reality of the parking lot. Nate released her hand to dig in his
pocket for the keys, with which he unlocked first the passenger door and then
his own side. They didn't talk until he'd eased the truck out onto Marine View
Drive.

It was Nate who broke the silence, his voice a little
rougher than usual, but his tone determinedly casual. "Was your meal good?
We were so busy talking, I didn't think to ask. I've always liked that
restaurant."

Abigail could scarcely remember what her seafood had tasted
like, so preoccupied with Nate had she been, but she answered with appropriate
lightness, "It was delicious. I'm glad you thought of going there."

The conversation stayed on the same level for the remainder
of the drive back to Pilchuck, fueled by determination on both their parts.
When Nate at last pulled the pickup into her driveway and cut the engine,
Abigail realized how nervous she was. She felt like a teenager waiting for her
first kiss, licking her lips so they wouldn't be too dry, hoping she didn't
taste like garlic, hoping even more that she remembered how to do it. She
wished now that Nate had kissed her that day in her office, so it could have
been a spontaneous combustion. As it was, the silence was deafening, Nate's
face unreadable in the darkness, and she knew darn well she wasn't going to
enjoy the kiss. She was thinking too much.